And your car-collapsing trees and ICould turn them back to soundWith the torches in our hands we will reduce itTo the ground

I stood outside in the bright black nightBeneath their buzzing power linesAnd I saw a number in the sky, in the skyAnd if there's a God, he's a little gunAnd he holds you closely inside these wallsBut he hates his babies most of all

And your car-collapsing trees and ICould turn them back to soundWith our torches in our hands we will reduce it to the groundIn the parliament there's a littleHands that are reaching outYou can try and try and try but baby there's no way around